


untitled budapest 1.1

by orphan_account



Series: budapest [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:57:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>santana doesn't play nice with strangers. unfortunately, she's been assigned one for her next mission - a sharpshooter who goes by the name 'hawkeye'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled budapest 1.1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [randomcanbian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomcanbian/gifts).



> this is a marvel/avengers crossover fic in which brittany is hawkeye and santana is the black widow. i'll be posting drabbles and one-shots sporadically in the series titled 'budapest'. i feel obliged to warn you that i have no idea where this is going. i'm just doing it for fun. enjoy!

She tightens her shoulders against the cold drizzle.

Stowing her aviators away in the pocket of her darkened coat, she makes her way over to the shaded bus stop and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. She sets her coffee down next to her on the bench and strikes the match, cupping her palm around it and then inhaling deeply.

If her partner doesn’t show, she’s going to be pissed.

She’s heard of the legendary Hawkeye before – sharpshooter, skilled archer, master assassin – and she’s heard the stories; stories about how Hawkeye never misses a target.

But frankly? She’s not buying it.

Not until she sees it for herself.

And as far as she’s concerned, Hawkeye may never miss a shot – but the master assassin’s sure missing a watch, because he’s 15 minutes late.

She doesn’t need another person who doesn’t give a damn about trying to keep up with her. It’s why she never works with a partner in the first place.

The rain doesn’t look like it’s letting up any time soon either; it beats down hard above her, and she curses under her breath. Her nails are stark red against the white cardboard cup – these nails are her identifier. That’s how Hawkeye’s going to know who she is.

She can get over the tardiness, but she hopes that this person’s worth the –

A light tap on her shoulder.

A flash of blonde hair.

Baby blues.

A feline grin, stretching from ear to ear.

“You must be Santana. Sorry I’m so late.”

Santana takes in the baggy jeans, the oversized flannel button-down under a dark brown jacket, the beanie, the audacious headphones.

“You’re Hawkeye.” It’s not a question.

“Yeah, but you can call me Brittany,” she says with an easy smile, plucking Santana’s cigarette out of her mouth and inhaling deeply before tossing it to the ground and crushing it under her boot. “Those’re bad for you.”

Santana’s sure she’s not going to enjoy this.

She’s not going to enjoy this at all.


End file.
